


Bashir's Sick Day

by iris718



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:06:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26585590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iris718/pseuds/iris718
Summary: Julian is home sick, so he decides to watch a James Bond movie marathon. He gets some company, and tenderness ensues!
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 18
Kudos: 74





	Bashir's Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic ever, so I don't know what I'm doing! Hope you enjoy :)

_“Bashir to Garak.”_

_“Yes, Doctor?”_

_“Garak, I’m sorry to do this, and so last-minute, but I need to cancel our lunch. I’ve got *cough* a nasty cold that’s got me stuck in quarters all day.”_

_“I am so sorry to hear you are ill, Doctor, I certainly hope you will be feeling better soon. Garak out.”_

_Hm, that was a bit abrupt,_ thinks Julian to himself, as he struggles out of bed. His quarters feel freezing, which he knows is because of the fever, so he keeps his duvet wrapped around himself and mutters to the computer to raise the temperature a few degrees as he shuffles into his living area. He’s already slept most of the morning, though with his cough and body aches it was a fitful sleep at best. Leave it to him to catch a strain of virus that stubbornly resists all the regular treatments. 

“Tarkalean tea” he rasps at the replicator. He takes the teacup and makes his way over to the couch, stopping only to take Kukalaka down from the shelf he usually sits on. If there’s ever a time to cuddle your teddy bear, it’s on a sick day. As he settles himself down into the corner of the couch, his mind flashes back to when he would get sick as a child. Before the hospital on Adigeon Prime. Back when he was Jules, when he still got sick with more regularity since he didn’t have a genetically enhanced immune system. His mother used to make up what she called a “sick corner” on the couch. She would bring him tea and soup, and would let him cuddle Kukalaka and watch holoprojections of old movies from the 20th and 21st centuries. The first time he ever saw a James Bond movie was on one of those sick days home from school. He must have been five years old at the time, and he remembers being entranced by the suaveness, the action, the intrigue. _Some things never change,_ he thinks to himself, thinking of his continued fascination with the Bond stories, but also with something much more real and dangerous. Something with bright blue eyes and a ridged face, who still manages to look devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo. Better than Bond even.

Julian shakes his head, trying to get himself out of this fevered reverie. The memory of his childhood sick days though does bring him some comfort. Those are some of the memories of his childhood that don’t bring pain—back before he was changed, violated. When he was just a normal kid who knew his mother loved him and would take care of him. He always felt so safe on those sick days, even not feeling well he knew that everything would be okay. Maybe he can recreate that feeling for himself here, today. It’s been ages since he’s actually watched any of the Bond movies, usually preferring now to act out the adventures in the holosuite. But what better way to pass the day and distract from the pounding of his head and scratching of his throat?

He gets up off the couch and slowly goes over to his shelf where he keeps his holoprojector and data rods. He selects _Casino Royale_ , and slides the rod into the slot. Once he has the projector set up, he rearranges his pillows and duvet on the couch to set up a comfortable corner. He is just about to settle in when the door chime rings.

_Who on Earth could that be?_ He wonders. _The senior staff and everyone in the infirmary know I’m sick._ “Come!” he calls out, rewarded for raising his voice with a harsh cough.

The door whisks open, and Garak walks in, holding a container. “Doctor, that cough really does not sound very pleasant,” he remarks, as Julian looks at him in surprise. He is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he is wearing blue striped pajamas, his hair is a mess, and he is making coughing sounds reminiscent of a Klingon targ barking. Oh, and his teddy bear is sitting in the middle of the couch for all to see. So suave.

“Garak? What are you doing here?” He hurriedly tries to reconfigure the duvet to cover Kukalaka, and to sit down in a casual way, but with the way Garak’s typical knowing smile deepens, he knows he is failing miserably.

“Well Doctor, you did not sound at all well over the com earlier, and doctors notoriously make the worst patients (you especially, if I may be so bold), so I took it upon myself to bring you some soup. It’s a Cardassian recipe, guaranteed to soothe even the most virulent of colds.” He places the container down on the table, in front of Julian.

“Thank you Garak, that’s very…kind” Julian says, faltering on the last word as he opens the container and gets a good whiff of the fishy-smelling soup within. “This seems lovely, perhaps I’ll try some a bit later.”

“Oh, but Doctor, have you eaten anything yet today? You look awfully pale. Please, allow me.” Suddenly, Garak is doing what can only be described as…bustling around Julian’s quarters, getting a spoon and napkin and bringing them over, reheating Julian’s forgotten cup of tea, and even tucking the duvet more firmly around him. Julian is left dumbfounded—he can hardly believe what is happening to him, and when a cool grey hand is pressed to his forehead, he is momentarily convinced that he is actually just having a very vivid fever dream, and he will awaken at any moment, alone. He doesn’t awaken though. Not when Garak sits next to him, the couch cushions bending under him as he adds his weight next to Julian. Not when Garak gently tucks the napkin into the neck of Julian’s pajamas, the way Garak himself always does during their lunches at the Replimat. Even when Garak hands him the spoon, their fingers gently brushing, does Julian not wake up. And when he takes his first spoonful of the hot, fishy broth, he is finally convinced that this is reality and not a fantasy emerging from his fevered brain. In no fantasy would he conjure something that tastes so foul. He makes a good show of it though, managing to get several spoonfuls down before Garak finally takes mercy on him and lets him put the bowl back on the table.

“That was really quite nice, thank you Garak,” he says, in between sips of tea, trying to get the taste away. “I’m sure I will enjoy the rest later even more.”

“My dear doctor,” comes the amused reply. “You really do need to practice your lying if you expect anyone to believe you. The soup is not meant to be delicious, particularly to non-Cardassians. However, it is very fortifying.”

It’s true, Julian is feeling a bit better after having had something hot. Now that he was finished eating, Garak seemed to be making motions as if he were ready to get up and leave. Julian suddenly feels a sort of loneliness, realizing that the last thing he wants right now is for Garak to walk out the door. Before Garak can say anything he asks “Do you have any plans this afternoon Garak?”

“Not particularly,” comes the answer. “I have some commissions to work on, but nothing that can’t wait. Why do you ask?”

“Before you arrived, I was going to watch a holoprojection of a James Bond movie—it’s something I used to do when I was sick as a child. It’s what inspired my _Julian Bashir, Secret Agent_ holosuite program. Would you…like to stay and watch with me?”

“You do know how I feel about this obsession of yours with spy stories Doctor, but since you are sick, I will humor you.”

Julian grins. Finally, an upside to feeling so terrible. “Computer, begin playback.” He can feel Garak settling into a more comfortable position beside him as the movie begins.

“Doctor, why is there no color to this projection? Is there a malfunction in the holoprojector?”

“Shh, Garak. It’s a stylistic thing. Just watch.”

_“I know where you keep your gun”_ plays in the holoprojector.

“How are we to expect that this man is any type of villain or threat if he keeps his weapon in such an obvious place, where anyone can tamper with it?...Oh, and what’s this now, drowning a man in a sink? There are such more efficient ways to kill someone.” It’s only three minutes into the first scene and already Garak is grumbling about the script.

“Shhhhh Garak, just watch.” Julian. Even though he knows what’s coming, he can’t suppress a gasp when Bond picks up the gun, whirls, and shoots just as the opening credits begin. He always loved that move.

“Really though Doctor, I’m not sure this is the type of intelligence agent you should be looking up to. It was quite sloppy of him not to ensure that his target was dead, and very nearly got him killed.”

“Garaaaaak. It’s not supposed to be a training manual for intelligence agents. It’s supposed to be fun, to be over the top. That’s where the entertainment is.”

Garak smiles indulgently at the doctor, whose eyes are bright with excitement just as much as with fever. He resolves to keep his commentary to himself, no matter how unrealistic or idiotic he finds the premise. _I mean really, this chase scene does seem quite exaggerated, I’ve never known any agents to have such a spectacular pursuit. They would just shoot their target, in the leg if trying to keep them alive._ As he continues his silent litany of inaccuracies, implausibilities, and things he would do differently to Bond, he glances over at the doctor, who is watching with rapt attention. He is very clearly the target audience for this entertainment—gasping at just the right points, wincing when the main character gets injured, and leaning forward as if to almost immerse himself in the projection. Seeing him so engaged in the story and the action makes Garak want to view this movie with a new perspective. He can’t remember the last time he enjoyed something so purely as the doctor is now. Or if he ever even has. Throughout the rest of the movie Garak is only half watching, far preferring to sneak glances at his companion and see the reactions that each scene elicits from him. This is the best entertainment he’s had in quite some time, and this Bond character is really starting to grow on him (especially when he remembers how handsome Julian looks when he takes on the role dressed in his tuxedo, brandishing his primitive firearm).

The movie finishes, and Julian stretches luxuriantly, smiling over at Garak. “So, what did you think?”

_I think you are lovely when you are excited by something. The way your eyes light up when you watch this movie, or when you talk about your research or some new medical problem you’re working on. I think the fact that you can find this level of joy in something so simple is nothing short of a miracle._ “I think I’m starting to see what you enjoy about these spy stories.”

The look on Julian’s face makes him want to think of a thousand more ways he can make the other man smile like that. “I’ve got more, do you want to watch another?”

“Whatever will make you happy, my dear.” Garak gets up to replicate some more tea for them both, and Julian selects the next file to play. When Garak returns with the tea, he seems to sit just a bit closer than before. He leans back into the couch and rests his arm on the back. Julian notices all of this, and shuffles his own self around a bit, trying to get a bit closer without being obvious. It could just be the fever _(it’s just the fever, it’s just the fever)_ but being close to Garak, to his body heat, is very comforting. And Garak doesn’t seem to mind. He even touches Julian again, gently moving his hair out of the way as he feels his forehead. It’s so sweet and fills Julian with such tenderness to be treated so delicately. He smiles at Garak. “So nurturing” he says, laughing a bit.

“Someone has to be, when it’s the doctor who’s sick,” replies Garak. “Now hush, and just watch.” Julian smiles to himself and snuggles down a bit, even going so far as to let his head rest gently against Garak’s shoulder. And Garak doesn’t move. In fact, his arm settles gently around Julian.

At some point during the second movie, Julian falls asleep, leaning even further into Garak. With a look on his face that he would never let the good doctor see if he were awake, Garak gently strokes his hair, soothing him. He even goes so far (just to see how warm he is, for medical reasons) as to press his lips to the doctor’s temple for the briefest of moments. At that tender touch, Julian smiles in his sleep.

When Julian wakes up, he finds that the movie is ending. Garak’s arm is still around him, and he is absently stroking his hair. For a moment he tries to hold still and pretend he is still sleeping, afraid if he moves he will break the perfection of this moment. He realizes though that Garak assuredly already knows he is awake, and knew from the moment he opened his eyes. And that arm is still there. Taking a chance, Julian snakes out his own arm and wraps it around Garak’s waist, pulling him closer. This motion elicits a sigh of contentment from the other man.

They stay this way for awhile, even after the movie has ended, not needing to speak, just enjoying each other’s company. Finally, as Julian starts to fall asleep yet again, Garak gently suggests that it might be time for him to go back to bed.

“You’re probably right,” Julian sighs, sitting up with some effort. His hair is mussed, and his cheek has the vague imprint of the fabric of Garak’s tunic on it. Garak can’t help himself but to raise a hand and gently stroke that imprint. “Garak…thank you for today. It meant a lot to me that you came to check on me, and that you’ve taken care of me, kept me company.” He smiles, feeling a bit shy now.

“My dear, it was truly my pleasure. Now, let’s get you to bed.” He takes Julian’s arm and picks up his pillows and blankets, carrying them into the bedroom. As Julian brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed, Garak arranges the bed for him. When Julian comes out, he stands somewhat awkwardly next to the bed as they look at each other. 

“Well, thank you again” says Julian, feeling shy. “Y-you know, there were over twenty-five James Bond movies made…Perhaps you might like to watch another with me sometime?”

The idea of sitting next to Julian on the couch and holding him close twenty-five more times makes Garak immediately forget any complaints he had about the Bond movies. To share time like that with his doctor again he would watch instructional videos on self-sealing stem bolts, or sit through the longest Klingon opera. “How about tomorrow evening, when I’ve finished in the shop?” he asks. “I can bring you some more soup.”

“Tomorrow will be perfect” says Julian, a wide smile spreading on his face. 

Garak takes a step forward, and gently cups Julian’s face in his hands. Julian’s breath catches in his throat as Garak presses a single kiss to his forehead. “Until tomorrow then. Sleep well, Doctor. And do feel better.” 


End file.
